Corsair

by Chris Bunch

  “Thanks.” Gareth sank back down.

  “What have I missed?”

  Labala grunted. “And I thought I was all ready, standing by with all the news, waiting for you to come back, and now everything’s fluttering about in my head.

  “But now I got it in order.

  “About a week after me and Dafflemere decided you was going to live, Froln and N’b’ry took the slaves back to where they come from aboard the Freedom.

  “N’b’ry figured it’d be best to get them out of sight and mind, for fear some others might think, with you down, the vote on whether they was to be freed or not could be reheld.

  “They sailed out, were gone a week an’ a half, came back a little sweaty.”

  “Why?”

  “Seems there were Linyati all over the waters around Kashi, and they had the hardest damned time eluding them. Knoll said it was like they were looking just for them.” He grinned. “Froln cursed me some, saying I should’ve been along, trying to cast spells of confusion and dismay, instead of playing nursemaid back here.

  “But I told them they came back all right, so what’s the advantage in whining?”

  “How could the Slavers know where to look? It’s a big ocean,” Gareth wondered, a bit to himself.

  “Knoll had the same question. I dunno. But he said the people we sent back went ashore, glad, and one of them said they knew just where to go, how to go up that big damned river, sneak past the Linyati town, and sooner or later they’d be home, with new tales and songs.

  “They was most grateful for those swords and such you wouldn’t let anyone trade away, and said they knew well how to put them to use. They said they’d pray for all of us until their children’s children’s children had long gray beards.

  “I figure that’s about to next week, given most folks’ memories and gratitudes.”

  Gareth drank more fruit juice.

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve saved the best — if that’s what it is — till last. See Dafflemere’s had a dream. About gold and ships. About the Linyati treasure fleet that sails from Kashi into Linyati waters, stopping in every Linyati port, picking up gold and silver and treasures.”

  Gareth nodded. He remembered Nomios telling him that Luynes had talked of somehow, someday, finding a way to attack that fleet.

  “That — assuming the fleet really exists — would be a proper dream,” he said. “But how many ships would it take to attack them?”

  “There’s been Brethren coming in for resupply, and Dafflemere’s been bending their ears hard. We’ve got twenty-two ships committed, which’d be twenty-six if we go along.”

  “You mean the Company’s been waiting for me to come back before they voted?”

  Labala looked away, out at the water.

  “We told them they ought to wait. But …”

  “But they didn’t,” Gareth said, pretending indifference. “I couldn’t have expected them to. How’d the vote go?”

  “Most were in favor of sailing with Dafflemere. Some — me, the others who went out as virgins on the Steadfast — said we ought to wait till you got better. Others laughed, said if you wanted to come along, as captain, you’d be welcome.

  “If not … there was just too much gold to wait, and Froln would make a good enough skipper.

  “Especially since Dafflemere’s been dreaming, constant, about those ships.”

  Labala looked about cautiously.

  “Truth tell, Gareth, that’s something I don’t like about this deal.”

  “Why not?”

  “The gods send those kind of dreams, mostly to get people into trouble.”

  Gareth had a thought about who else might have cast those inviting dreams, but said nothing of it. “Well,” he said. “I don’t guess I’ve got a lot of choice whether I go in with you, do I?”

  Labala shook his head. “Sorry, Gareth. I think you got backed into a corner.”

  • • •

  Gareth regained his energy quickly. He was plied with the freshest of fish, pork, chicken at every meal, although there still was no fresh beef to be had. His crews came calling daily, each man with a morsel or a charm that’d help Gareth back to full strength.

  Both Labala and Dafflemere specialized in herbal sorcerous potions. Gareth thought both worked on the theory that the more disgusting a medicine was, the better it was for him.

  Irina and other island women brought other delicacies, and again Irina apologized for letting herself fall into Ozerov’s trap. Gareth told her to pay no mind, she couldn’t have known his intent.

  She said she’d do absolutely anything to be forgiven. Gareth was sorely tempted, but somehow maintained his nobility. Then, at night, when he saw firelight from below, in the marketplace, and heard women and men laughing together, he cursed his foolishness.

  Three times a day he forced himself out of his bed, made himself exercise, walking as far as he dared, then trotting, finally running. He worked out with weapons, keeping them sheathed for added weight.

  When he felt still better, he challenged any man to fight him with wooden swords or daggers, a silver piece for anyone who beat him. He lost about twenty pieces of silver, since there were highly skilled swordsmen among the pirates, before he felt his strength at full surge.

  Then he moved back aboard the Steadfast and announced he was no longer on the sick list and back to duty.

  • • •

  “Permission to come aboard?” the man in the longboat hailed.

  Gareth went to the rail, thought he recognized the man in the sternsheets. But he didn’t have to guess his identity — the other men in the boat, wearing striped sleeveless shirts and blue breeches, plus the immaculate condition of the boat itself, gave away its identity.

  “Come aboard the Naijak,“ he called, and the man swarmed up the ladder.

  “Captain Radnor, I’m Captain Petrich,” he said. “I, uh, was — ”

  “The late Ozerov’s second in the duel,” Gareth said.

  “Yessir.” Petrich looked uncomfortable.

  “Forget about it, unless you propose another challenge,” Gareth said. “I doubt the Brethren would consider revenge a just duel — at least, not that sort of revenge.”

  “No, sir,” Petrich said. “What Ozerov did was his own business.”

  “Then welcome aboard, and come into my cabin for a glass.”

  “Fruit juice if you have it, or water,” Petrich said. “Brandy fuzzles my senses, so I don’t drink on duty.”

  “My taste exactly,” Gareth said with some surprise. He and Petrich must be the only corsairs on Freebooter’s Island who felt that way.

  In the Steadfast’s cabin, Petrich came to the point.

  “Sir, as you know, our ship was owned by Lord Quindolphin, of Saros. That was why Ozerov challenged you, to gain favor, and most likely gold, with Quindolphin.”

  “I’d already figured that out,” Gareth said, noting Petrich’s use of the past tense regarding the Naijak’s ownership.

  “There are many in the crew who disliked serving Quindolphin, and who feel that slaving is a dirty business, something the gods will hold against us in the afterlife.”

  “If there are any.”

  “I believe in them,” Petrich said. “And I felt your killing Ozerov, who was one of the most feared duelists I know of, was a sign.

  “After his death, we — the officers and men — determined to become true pirates, and sail under the black flag rather than Quindolphin’s house banner.”

  Gareth grunted in surprise.

  “To be frank,” Petrich said, “it was less a matter of morality than honest greed. Quindolphin’s share was half, which is absurd for a man who took none of the risks.”

  “Interesting,” Gareth said. “And, since Quindolphin is one of my enemies, what you say pleases me. But why have you come to tell me this?”

  “As I believe in the gods,” Petrich said, “I believe in luck. You’ve proven yourself to be lucky, Captain Radn
or.

  “The ship’s company of the Naijak wishes to join your enterprises, and have voted, if you accept us, to follow your lead until we vote to do otherwise, and are willing to accept whatever terms, assuming they’re reasonable, you wish to take for such leadership.”

  Gareth smiled at that.

  “That’s not the most solid of commitments.”

  Petrich sighed. “I know. But it appears there is little that is in these waters.”

  “True.” Gareth thought about what Petrich had said. “What experience have you, beyond the seizing of human cargoes?”

  “We’ve taken four or five prizes,” Petrich said. “Only one worth bragging on, and that was a hard fight that cost us more men than I think it should’ve. Yet another reason to learn under your tutelage.”

  Ah, Gareth thought. So, now, a bit more than twenty years of age, I’m a worshipful sage.

  “I think,” Gareth said honestly — though keeping a small check in mind about the hard loyalty of the Naijak — “we could be of mutual assistance, if your ship sails and fights as well as it looks. As for my payment, I’d consider two shares acceptable.”

  “I promise you, it does that,” Petrich said. “And I certainly think your suggested share is more than reasonable.”

  “I should have asked for more,” Gareth said.

  Petrich smiled, lifted his glass. “A pawky fluid to toast a partnership.”

  Gareth touched his own mug to Petrich’s.

  “One other thing,” Petrich said. “I … we … assumed, before we voted, that your ships will take part in Dafflemere’s expedition against the treasure ships.”

  “Such has been decided,” Gareth said flatly.

  • • •

  “I tell you, young captain,” Dafflemere said, “it’s proof that the gods are blessing us that I’ve had several dreams, each as precise as if it were real life, about the Linyati treasure.”

  “That is just what I wanted to discuss with you.”

  Gareth and Dafflemere were in his house, one of the few stone buildings on Freebooter’s Island. It was lavishly cluttered with weapons, relics of wrecks, charts, and odd, probably magical, artifacts.

  Gareth drank water, Dafflemere a horrible concoction of Axkiller and northern brandy, which never seemed to make him anything other than redder of face.

  “You have doubts?”

  “Only two,” Gareth confessed. “The first is your dreams. Could they be sent as a trap by the Linyati?”

  Dafflemere snorted. “To a magician of lesser powers than mine, possibly, although that would still take great wizardry, since I’m not known to the Slavers.

  “But I can answer you more precisely, since I’ve cast spells and found no signs of any foreign thaumaturge’s presence. I’ve used relicts of the Linyati to help me in that search, by the way, which would surely warn me if they were laying a trap.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Gareth said.

  “I don’t mean to be insulting,” Dafflemere said, “but is there any possibility your hesitation comes from a bit of jealousy, since this was not your plan?

  “I would hardly suggest this,” he continued hastily, “if I didn’t know you to be a young man of great common sense and skepticism, able to question everything, including your own perceptions. I would hardly have done it with other corsair captains of lesser intellect.”

  Gareth felt a bit of anger, fought it back, considered Dafflemere’s suggestion.

  “No,” he said slowly. “Or at any rate I don’t think there’s envy in my caution.

  “Perhaps the real reason I’m a bit skeptical is this seems to be a bit of plunging. If we take the treasure ships, all well and good, and we’ll be great lords, able, if we wish, to quit reiving forever and be honored, even ennobled, with such riches in our own lands.”

  Gareth suddenly had a flash of longing for just that, but then it vanished as he thought of the dullness of a country squire’s life, or, for that matter, his uncle Pol’s.

  “But if we fail, if the Linyati are too strong,” he continued, “then all this” — and his arm swept the quiet lagoon — “will be shattered.”

  “Why, lad,” Dafflemere said, “none of this was here before we came, now was it? We built this island, intending it only for our own time, for the brief span we’re able to strut the quarterdeck, our names a whisper of fear among lesser wights. So who cares if it’s washed away as quickly as it came?

  “Perhaps my — our — venture is putting everything on a single casting of the dice. What could be grander, Gareth, than that? For what could be worse than living a nice, simple, tedious life in some backwater as if we were proper citizens? Aren’t we all rebelling against that fate?”

  Gareth remembered what he’d said to Thom Tehidy and Knoll N’b’ry the day the Slavers destroyed his village. There was a bit of a shiver in the memory, but also an honest surge of agreement.

  “You’re right,” Gareth said. “Or anyway my heart says you’re right.”

  “And what else should we follow?” Dafflemere upended his great mug, bellowed laughter.

  “All right,” Knoll N’b’ry said evenly. “Why me?”

  • • •

  “Because you’re about the most level-headed sort in the Company,” Gareth said. “Because I think you and Nomios can get the three ships to Juterbog’s main port and wait for a suitable amount of time without losing control of the crewmen, nor selling off the cargo for drink.”

  The two were on the deck of the Freedom. Gareth was supervising the placement of four more guns on its maindeck, which would give it ten to a broadside. The ship may have been a slow wallower, but now its punch made it worth keeping rather than sending home.

  “I know I can do the last,” N’b’ry said. “But I don’t know about this crew. Gareth, you’ve given me every — well, most every — layabout and rakehelly in the Company.”

  “Because I don’t want them aboard for the raid,” Gareth said. “I want men I can trust.”

  N’b’ry looked at him, and Radnor could tell Knoll was holding back anger.

  “So you run off and play, and I’ve got to take all our loot to a safe place. Just like when we were kids. Damned if I like being the dependable one!”

  “But you are.”

  “What about Thom? He’s reliable. Oh, I have it. You’re afraid he’d throw you overboard if you went to him and said he’d have to miss out on the biggest battle ever.”

  “There may be some truth to that.”

  “You know, I could quit the Company.”

  “But you won’t,” Gareth said.

  “If you’d sounded smug, I might’ve thrown you overside myself,” N’b’ry said. “But you’re right. Damn you again.”

  He looked at the roster, shook his head.

  “Why the blazes couldn’t this wait until after we’ve come back from hitting the Linyati?”

  Gareth took a deep breath.

  “Because there’s a fair chance, I think, of not coming back. And the ships you’re taking north are the ones I’d like least to put into battle.”

  “There is that.”

  “Don’t forget,” Gareth said, “you and the others are for full shares, whether you’re in the fight or not.”

  “That’s a comfort,” Knoll said sarcastically. “I didn’t go a-pirating with you just to get rich, you know.”

  “I know,” Gareth said. He thought about saying how bad he felt, but knew that would be moral cowardice. He’d been elected captain, so it was his duty to lead as he saw fit, until voted out.

  “All right,” Knoll said heavily. “Now I’ll get the pleasure of telling Nomios. Hoping he doesn’t throw me overboard, or take a cutlass to me.”

  • • •

  Gareth watched N’b’ry’s three ships sail out of the lagoon, wished them safe passage, tried to make himself feel better for what he’d done to his friend. He tried to rationalize, thinking he had nothing to feel bad about; he’d certainly kept Knoll N’b’ry
from dying at the hands of the Linyati if things went sour.

  That didn’t help, and he was late for a conference with his fellow captains on how they should fight the Linyati, when — and if — they encountered them.

  • • •

  Sailing was three days distant when Labala came to Gareth and took him aside.

  “My father told me,” he began, “that, in our islands, when a witch dreams of sharks, this means there is trouble due.”

  “And you’ve dreamt of sharks,” Gareth said.

  “I have.”

  “Do you think your dream can stop what another dream’s put in motion?”

  Labala looked across the harbor, at the ships swarming with working sailors, small boats skittering across the lagoon from ships to shore with supplies, gunpowder.

  “No,” he said slowly. “Don’t guess it can.”

  • • •

  Dafflemere, aboard his flagship, the Thruster, led the way through the passage, the corsair fleet behind him.

  A fair wind blew across the quarterdeck of the Steadfast, and Galf shouted for full sail; across the blue, white-dappled ocean, canvas slatted down on dozens of masts.

  Gareth looked back at the islets, saw, on the headlands, women, children, men, waving farewell.

  He turned away, putting the warmth and safety of the land behind.

  Ahead lay the open sea, and Linyati gold.

  Twelve

  The corsairs, in common with merchant sailors, which they’d all been, had a sensible fear of any vessel closer than a dot on the horizon, for fear of collision, and so the twenty-six ships were in a formation that could most politely be called raggedy.

  They sailed almost due south, through the island chains around Freebooter Island, then across the open sea toward Kashi, intending to make landfall well west of the city of Batan and wait for the treasure ships.

  The two biggest ships were the Freedom and Petrich’s Naijak. The latter, unlike the Freedom, was a slender-hulled three-master that sailed handily, rather than butting through the seas. The other pirate ships were either converted northern merchantmen or captured Linyati traders or patrol craft.

  The fleet sighted land, turned back to sea, and dropped sail. Dafflemere signaled for a captain’s conference, and Gareth ordered his gig lowered. The longboats of Froln, now captaining the Freedom; Galf of the Revenge; Dihr, the freed Kashi, of the Goodhope; and Petrich of the Naijak joined as his boat closed on the Thruster.